Ellen’s breathing beside her had become heavier. It was time to sleep. Thomasin wondered if Rafe was dreaming, so close as to be within reach, utterly unaware of her thoughts. She closed her eyes.
Suddenly, Thomasin was awake. The room was still. A little moonlight revealed the sleeping form of her cousin, but otherwise all was quiet. She had no idea how much time had passed, nor what had roused her. She could recall no dream, no disturbance, nothing to interrupt her peace. The sound of an owl hooting outside seemed to answer her question, and she rolled onto her side, trying to settle. But her mind was awake now, jolted back to consciousness.
Another sound reached her. Muffled voices down the corridor, trying to remain quiet, but shot through with a thread of concern. Now she was fully alert and sleep was impossible. Swinging her feet out of bed, she placed them lightly upon the wooden floorboards and moved towards the door. Ellen stirred slightly, making her freeze. Should she wake her? It might be nothing, and she would have broken another’s sleep. As she watched, Ellen murmured then fell silent again. Thomasin gently opened the heavy wooden door and crept outside.
A distant glimmer of light passed along the end of the corridor. A moving candle, sheltered by someone’s hand. It appeared to be travelling away from her, blotted by a shadow. There was the sound of light footsteps, then the silence of a tread reaching the softness of rushes. Thomasin crept along a little, to where the corridor was lined with windows overlooking the courtyard. The night poured in, making it all seem a ghostly grey.
At the far end, a figure stopped and turned. In the glow of the candle, Thomasin recognised the tall, lean shape of her father, a coat thrown over his nightgown.
“Father?” she whispered, although it was quiet enough for her voice to carry. She moved towards him. “What’s the matter?”
“Thomasin, is that you? I am sorry to wake you. It’s nothing to worry about. Your mother had a slight turn; she’s restless and breathless, and there is pain in her limbs again. It’s the excitement of today; she’s overdone it.”
“Oh dear, poor Mother. Shall I go to her?”
“No, that will just get her more worked up. She doesn’t want anyone to know. I am just fetching some more wood for the fire — she feels the cold so. And I’ll bring her some wine. She will not sleep without it.”
“Of course, but please, let me do it. There is more than enough of each in my chamber, and it will save a trip down to the kitchen.”
“Thank you, that is kind of you.”
“Wait, I will be right back.”
Thomasin hurried back along the passage and crept into her bedroom. Ellen was still asleep. She quickly gathered an armful of wood and picked up the decanter, still half full of wine.
As she headed back towards her father, she could see that he was no longer alone. Another figure stood at his side, glowing faintly in the candlelight. Rafe was peering towards her. His dark hair was tousled, his shirt open to reveal his wide throat.
Thomasin coloured at the sight of him, suddenly aware of her shift, her bare feet and the straggling hair about her face. As soon as she had handed over the wood, she tucked her hair back behind her ears, but she knew that his eyes were upon her.
“Now, there is nothing to fear. You should return to bed,” her father tried to reassure her.
“Will she sleep now? Will she be able to travel in the morning?”
Sir Richard looked unsettled. “That is another question entirely. It may not be possible. We shall have to wait and see. When does the queen expect you?”
“Tomorrow, at the latest. She wants us all back ready for the reception of the new cardinal.”
“This is difficult. The carriage will be ready in the morning, but your mother may not be. We might need to delay by a day or two; these things are unavoidable. I shall write to the queen and explain the circumstances.”
“Excuse me, Sir, may I assist?” Rafe stepped forward. “I am due back in London tomorrow. I was to take the small carriage back for Lady Anne’s use. I would be most willing to accompany the women on their journey.”
Thomasin dared not make a sound.
“In theory, that would work,” said her father. “I could bring Elizabeth and Cecilia up to my brother’s place in our carriage, once she is fit and able.”
“You can rely upon me. I would ride alongside and they would be safely at Westminster long before sundown.”
“It is a big responsibility.” Sir Richard eyed Rafe, recalling his allegiance to the Boleyns and his former role in Cecilia’s disgrace. But there was no one else to undertake the commission, nor had he ever anticipated being a guest at Hever. “I shall make my final decision in the morning. What time do you leave?”
“I can depart at whatever hour suits you, as long as it is before midday.”
Sir Richard nodded. “Very good.”
Rafe gave a bow and turned back to his chamber.
They waited until his footsteps had receded and the click of a door shutting was heard.
“What do you make of this fellow?” Sir Richard asked Thomasin. “He works for Boleyn, whom I do not trust in the slightest. We may be under his roof, but that does not alter the fact that Sir Thomas is the most slippery and duplicitous serpent of them all.”
